The number one rule of thumb for hunters: Don’t piss off a witch.

Dean made that mistake and the bitch- witch got away. Leaving Dean cursed without even knowing it. Turning in for the night and deciding to resume the hunt tomorrow, you both head to the motel.

Goodnights are exchanged and you’re both out cold in no time.

You shoot up in bed with a start going for your gun when you hear an angry female? shout of- “Son of a bitch!”

You clamber out of bed practically stumbling over your feet and open the bathroom door. A familiar face greets you except…

It’s a woman.

Does Dean have some kind of cousin he never mentioned?

“Dude-“ No way. “I’m a chick.” No fucking way.

Dean’s hand touches all over his face and he keeps turning to look from the mirror to you. His hair is long and the very same dirty blonde, maintaining that tousled look to it.

His unmistakably identical green eyes are wide and staring into the mirror as if that fact will change after looking long enough.